Angels and Devils
by InLoveWithLaughing
Summary: It doesn't matter if we've killed. If we've tortured. If we represent the very worst in humanity. We've all lived. We've all loved. We all suffer. One-shots from Azkaban, which means Angst like whoa.
1. Barty Crouch Jr

For the _Title Swap Competition _and the _If You Dare Challenge _on the_ HPFC Forum_

Description: It doesn't matter if we've killed. If we've tortured. If we represent the very worst in humanity. We've all lived. We've all loved. We all suffer. One-shots from Azkaban, which means Angst like whoa.

Rating: T

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

* * *

The roof leaks in your cell. Drip. Drip. Drip. The walls are grey and cold. You at once feel too closed in and if there's too much space. Your stomach twists and snarls and you groan, curling up and pressing you hand hard against it, trying to trick it into thinking you've eaten. The pressure in your head increases and you screw up your eyes. You want to moan and cry, and you do, because there's nobody to hear you.

There's a whisper of a cloak and a slimy dread fills you, overpowering the physical pain. You want the headache back. You know there's one outside your cell, but you don't open your eyes. There's a clatter of metal and the smell of meat. Lunch? Dinner? You don't move.

Whisper, whisper. It's getting closer and you can feel its cold, stale breath on your face. Whisper, whisper. It's inside your head. You feel naked and exposed and _ashamed_. It can see everything you've done. You've had your mind invaded before, felt the touch of unwelcome hands on your most intimate thoughts, but it's never been like this. You've never felt the happiness leach out of every pore, never felt the icy tendrils of _evil _worm inside your head and wrap around your most tender memories, desecrating them forever.

_You run up to the Astronomy Tower, the letter clutched in your hand. It crumples and rips slightly. Good, you don't want the words to be readable. You step out into the cool night air, eyes closed, letting it soothe your burning throat and calm the storm raging inside you. When you open your eyes you jump, realising you're not alone. You recognise the boy sitting on the ledge, long legs dangling over the side over the tower and cigarette held lightly in his lips, and know you should leave. But something stops you. You take a step closer. Regulus Black looks _lonely_. _

_He lifts a hand to remove the cigarette from his mouth and drops it to the ground far below. Blows out a cloud of swirling smoke. Turns to you._

"_You going to stand there all night, Crouch?" _

"_It's Barty," you say. _

_He catches your eye and nods gravely. You sit beside him on the ledge, and he offers you a cigarette. You've never smoked in your life, but he makes it look so easy and natural that you want to try. You take it and breathe in deeply. Then begin to choke on what tastes like a mouthful of ash. You cough until your eyes are streaming and your chest hurts. The cigarette falls from you hand and you watch the glowing end as it disappears into the darkness, then turn to him, apologetic and embarrassed. _

_There's a strange look on his face. Then his mouth twists up into a smirk and he offers you another. And another, and another, until you get it right._

You're gasping and shuddering, trying to escape the icy clutch of the dementor. The memory, the sacred memory of your first real meeting with him, is now tainted with shame and disgust.

Its breath rattles in and out, and you shudder as it washes over you. You try to fight, but your struggles are pitifully weak. Its clammy hand grips you and it draws you closer. You beg and beg, but it's found your weakness, found your happiest memories, and it's determined to take them.

_You go back to the Astronomy tower the next night and sit beside him again. You kick your feet against the grey bricks and smoke his cigarettes like a pro. He finds this funny for some reason, and his dark chuckle makes your heart thump hard and your palms tingle._

"_Why muggle cigarettes?" you say, watching as he carefully blows a ring of smoke. You try, but all you get is a cloud._

"_Found some in Sirius' room one day. Tried them, liked them," he says. His tone is hard and final. No more questions tonight. Instead you watch him. His eyes are pensive as he looks out at the grounds. You wonder what he's thinking about, but you can't tell so you turn away. _

_The lake shines in the light of the full moon and the trees of the Forbidden Forest sway gently together, rippling like the ocean. If you listen carefully, you think you can hear the rustle of them as the wind dances through the leaves. You kid yourself into thinking you can hear the things inside the forest. The steady thump of a Centaur's hooves. The howl of a wolf. The whispers of the dryads. _

_You turn your head slightly, to hear the imaginary sounds better, and quite accidentally you find your face centimetres from his. You can feel his breath on your lips. Taste fresh mint and bitter coffee. His eyes are searching. You feel as though he can see inside you and turn away shuddering. You've been warned about legilimency. _

_Quietly, so quietly you can't be sure it wasn't just another figment of your imagination, he says, "What I'd do to have thoughts like yours, Barty." _

Your hands feel disconnected from your body and wave aimlessly in front of you. It does no good of course. It bats them away easily and you're falling into the bottomless pit with barely a push.

_You don't crumple this letter. Don't throw it away. If you did, you might convince yourself it's not real. You keep it in your pocket. Folded four times. Hidden. _

_You're oddly calm when you arrive where you know he'll be waiting. Sit down beside him without a word. Take a cigarette. Look at the grounds. Everything's still. Silent. When his eyes meet yours you don't look away. A shadow falls across his face, a shadow you think you've caused until he speaks. "Give me the letter."_

_You're too shocked to deny him (so you tell yourself). His eyes flick over the words quickly, then he gazes wordlessly into the distance. When he finally speaks his voice is cool. "I wouldn't care if I were you. He's not worth it. Most fathers aren't."_

"_I haven't gone home for Christmas since First Year," you find yourself saying, wanting, _needing _him to understand your sadness._

"_Lucky. I have to leave home every Christmas." _

_The effort it takes him to say these words to you, almost a stranger, is not lost on you. You cautiously take his hand. One quick squeeze. Let go. _

_He looks at the letter again, then throws it into the air and flicks his hand lazily. Flames lick at the sides, then swallow the parchment. _

You moan wordlessly, unable to struggle anymore. You're so cold. The ice seems to have crept into your veins. You can't stop shivering. It pulls you closer and drinks in your memories greedily.

_You find him in the library, right at the back, head buried in a thick, dusty volume full of rich history and tales of gallant heroes going to war. You've been looking for him for an hour, and looking at him now you realise he's been outside the whole time. His pale face is flushed with colour from the cold wind and his dark curls are damp from the rain and shine in the soft light like a black halo around his head. Dark bruises are beginning to appear on his jaw and over his left eye. _

"_You were amazing today," you say softly. _

_He slams the book shut and stalks away. He's angry. Angry that he lost and that they won. Angry that once again his brother came out on top. Angry that you're bringing it up now. _

_You follow him, knowing that you have to be persistent, that if he really didn't want you there he wouldn't hesitate to tell you. He stops to slide the book back into its place and you lean your head close so only he can hear you._

"_You should have won. He didn't fight fair. There were four of them, and only one of you. If it was just you and Sirius-"_

_He whirls around suddenly and pins you to the shelf. He's holding your wrists tightly in his slender white hands and he's much stronger that you thought he'd be. You realise for the first time that he's taller than you. He leans down until all you see is pale lips and grey eyes and all you feel is his soft hair brushing against your forehead and the heat emanating from him._

"_Don't talk about my brother," he says, his voice soft but full of a painful promise if you disobey. _

_You expect him to pull away, but he doesn't. He presses closer until you can feel the length of his warm body against yours. Your tongue darts out involuntarily to wet your dry lips and his eyes drop. Your breath is coming quickly, but he's perfectly calm, watching your mouth almost calculatingly. You can't take it anymore and you kiss him. The whole world stands still for a second, and then he's kissing you back. Roughly. Almost violently. Biting at your lips. His tongue invades your mouth and you surrender to him, already addicted to the feeling. _

_Your hands are knotted in his hair and his hands are everywhere. There's a muffled gasp from someone beside you, but you barely register it. All that matters is the taste of bitter coffee and the smell of rain and books and the feel of warm Regulus. When he pulls away you're both breathing hard._

"_You really don't know when to stay away, do you Barty?" he says bitterly. _

_You want to say something witty or sharp, but he's already gone. _

Cold. Ice. Silence. Screams.

_He pushes you hard against the door. Brutal with his kisses. Grabbing, pulling, tearing at your clothes. You gasp as the cool air hits your hot skin and his hands follow._

"_You're so fucking innocent," he mutters against your lips. _

_You want to prove to him you're not. You grab at his shirt, but he pins your wrists to the door and laughs. "Don't worry. I like it."_

_Afterwards, he falls asleep quickly, but you can't make your brain stop whirring. You look over at him. He lies on his back, his arm thrown possessively over your chest and his legs twisted with yours. It's uncomfortable. You wouldn't change it for the world. _

_You take a silky black curl between your fingers and let it drop. His hair has grown to his shoulders now. It makes him look more like his brother than ever. He'll cut it soon. His face looks sweet in sleep. His lips relaxed and open slightly. He's the one that looks innocent now._

"_Angel," you murmur._

_Grey eyes open and one eyebrow is raised. Your face flushes hotly, but you refuse to be the first to look away. He closes his eyes again._

"_You're wrong. I'm not an angel," he says._

_You wait until you know for sure he's asleep before you reply, "I know." _

Alone. Finally alone. Unable to think. Unable to feel anything but cold. Terror. Sorrow. You think of his the night before he died. The night before he was branded forever as a traitor. Eyes feverish. Face bright. You knew what he was going to do. Knew he would betray you. But you let him in anyway. Because that's what you always did. You knew he wasn't an angel, knew he couldn't stay true to you. It wasn't his fault. He never claimed to be anything but the lousy, fickle traitor he turned out to be.

But that night he was desperate. Needy. Needing you. The only one whoever needed you. Wanted you. Except him. The Dark Lord. He needs you. He'll always need you. He'll never betray you. You'll be loyal to him until you die.


	2. Bellatrix Lestrange

For the lovely Gamma Orionis, who wanted Bellatrix/Narcissa and Bellatrix/Voldemort.

Prompts used: "I can't help it", desperation, the Cruciatus Curse

Description: It doesn't matter if we've killed. If we've tortured. If we represent the very worst in humanity. We've all lived. We've all loved. We all suffer. One-shots from Azkaban, which means Angst like whoa.

Rating: T-M

_Disclaimer: I don't Harry Potter, only a little obsession with it._

* * *

She lies on the hard, cold floor, legs and arms spread out. Like a star. Like she's making a snow angel. She's completely still. Her skin in white like marble. Her long lashes are dark slashes against her cheeks. Her tumbling, twisting, tangled hair fans out around her head. Her ribs are clearly visible through her clothing. Sharp like knives. The curves of her hips and breasts are long since gone. But she looks all the more striking for her emaciated frame.

Her white lips suddenly part and her dark eyes open, full of a queer, alluring light. Her red tongue darts out to lick her lips and she sits up, leaning back on her thin arms as if she can't quite hold herself up. She doesn't react to the cold that sweeps over her, to the invasion of her mind. Perhaps she's felt it too many times before. Perhaps it was by one who was her love. Her lover. Perhaps she's addicted to it.

When a scabby hand touches her chin she lifts her face willingly. Looks at evil with a soft, welcoming smile. Her breaths come evenly, matching the dementor's. Together they fall into the chasm of memory.

"_Bella, why do you seek my company?" he murmurs. _

"_You know why, my Lord," she says softly, looking up at him through thick lashes. Her robes slip slightly, revealing an ivory shoulder. She doesn't fix them. His eyes greedily take her in. The black and white lines of her body. The devotion in her eyes._

"_Where is your husband, Bella?"_

"_Like me, he is willing to give you _anything _you desire, my Lord."_

_He steps forward until they are flush against each other and takes her face in his hands almost gently. She gasps as feels the still unfamiliar sensation of him entering her mind. So different from anyone else. She can feel his raw power as his consciousness touches hers, so much more intimate than anything else could be. _

_He sees everything she's done. The way she indulges her fantasies some night, and cries out his name instead of her husband's. How creative she was in torturing Marlene McKinnon. Feels everything she's felt. The gentle hands of Rodolphus and the way she bats them away and forces him to be rough with her. The rush when the power of the cruciatus is coursing through her. Knows everything she knows. How the long line of mistresses do nothing to satisfy Rodolphus, because only she can do that, but she's with him. How Narcissa's pale eyes follow her when she visits her old home, full of a desire the sweet girl doesn't understand. _

_He steps away and she's left panting and hot all over. _

"_Your mind is most satisfying, Bella."_

"_Thank you, my Lord." _

The memory feels dirty and tainted. She lifts her hands to grasp at the black cloak, so like the one she wants. It feels like smoke in her hands, but she holds tight and pulls herself up. Its hands grip her wrists and help her to her feet. They're so close. Their faces mere inches from each other.

"_Don't be an idiot, Cissy. You know the answer to that." _

_The eldest black daughter sits with her little sister in their study. Narcissa is leant over the mahogany table, fingers inky and nibbling the end of her quill. She swallows as her sister's knee brushes against hers under the table, suddenly unable to concentrate of the essay in front of her. _

_Bella's eyes shine with malice. She leans forward and her robes stretch tightly across her breasts. Places a hand over Narcissa's and strokes it gently. _

"_Bella…" Narcissa's voice is barely above a whisper. _

_Bella begins to pull away and Cissy can't hold back a disappointed sigh. Then she's back with a vengeance. Cissy's being pulled up and pressed against the wall. Her robes are yanked up around her waist, held with one hand while the other hand wanders. Slides up the white thigh and brushes against her knickers. _

"_Oh."_

Each memory replayed is another blot on whatever purity she has retained. A drop of blood on a white handkerchief. A splash of mud on white little-girl shoes.

"_Crucio!" Cissy shrieks._

_Bella twirls and dances to the music of the screams. So high and sweet. So much more beautiful than an adult's. Children were still naïve enough to plead. Beg for mercy. They go on and on. Because they think if they show you their pain you'll stop. But she won't. She throws back her head and laughs. Spinning round and round and round. _

_Cissy catches her around the waist suddenly and drags her to her smaller, daintier body. Bella's breathless and dizzy as she looks down into her sister's face. She's doing this for her. All for her. Cissy has no interest in the tiny blonde girl who is curled up and sobbing on the floor. But she knows how she loves the music._

She falls limp, but the grasp of the dementor is strong. It pulls her ever closer and drinks her in.

"_Back again, Bella?" His voice is deceptively soft. His eyes glint with anger. _

"_Of course," she breathes, "I'll always be back."_

_He walks forward and grabs her wrists roughly, forcing his mind into hers. She can't supress a soft cry of surprise and pain as her shields are shattered. She can't control the memories that flood her mind. She's drowning. She tries to push him back, but he forces himself in further. _

_How soft Narcissa feels beneath her. Another one sided argument with Rodolphus. Him yelling, her ignoring. The sense that she must be gentle with this pale angel. She shags everyone she sees. Alice. Rabastan. Andy. Lucius. Anyone get rid of the memories of blonde hair and pale skin. How curves and long hair are so much sweeter than the hard lines of men. How she almost feels regret when Cissy cries over her mark._

_He pushes her away with a disgusted snarl. _

"_Please, my Lord," she cries, "I didn't mean it. A moment of weakness."_

"_A moment of weakness? You disgust me."_

"_I can't help it!"_

It lets her fall. Her head smacks the ground and she lies there still. It's gone. She begins to cry. Sobs wrack her body and she curls up. She can't stop. But she can't carry on. She begins to laugh. She spreads out and laughs and laughs and laughs, tears streaming down her face.


End file.
